One Song Glory
by KatrinaLebowitz
Summary: Pickles and Snakes N' Barrels made it. Their first big gig and Pickles is ecstatic. Things would change for him finally, he would find acceptance, and glory. Or whatever. The long cold nights on the streets and drug hazed violence would have meaning. This show could change everything. *Sexual violence possible in later chaps, lots of drug abuse*
1. Chapter 1

AN: Alright kiddos my first fic in a while...new account new day. Hope you likes pre-Dethklok glam Pickle. Feed back is great!

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Backstage of the "Library" smelled like old vomit and rubbing alcohol but the young front man of Snakes N' Barrels felt like he was entering a rock n' roll hall of fame, walking in the footsteps of his heroes.

Here the Razzle Sticks partied and made their claim to fame, Razor clan and Super destroyer fucking machine made their mark here. All rock artists in L.A vied for a spot in the "Library's" line up.

Pickles had dreamed of being here since he got to L.A and no amount of vomit, piss or possibility of contracting herpes from the couch was going to make it any less sick.

"Hey kid! You gonna fuckin' move or what?" A gruff grip was nudging Pickles pointedly in his ribs with one of their shitty amps.

"Oh yeh, my bayd." Pickles ignored the attitude. Besides, the fact that they even had someone helping unload their van was a surprise. No one had ever down that for Snakes N' Barrels before.

Tony followed Pickles in, he dropped onto the couch flicking a 40' Olde English cap into the air. "Here we are baby! Who would'a know it was gonna be this trashy!" His Black razor cut hair fell across pasty pockmarked skin making Tony look like a corpse.

"Whaddayou care? We all live like fuckin' animals anyway." Pickles dropped his sack of various gaudy stage makeup and threads onto a beat up mirrored amenity. He smirked thinking of all the cocaine and sluts that had most likely laid across its surface.

Tony grunted and took a chug of malt beer spilling it down his prickly chin without care. "Whatever," Another chug, "Where the fuck is everyone?"

"Probably raisin' hell somewhere, I told yoo lettin' them git ripped before 'da set was a bayd idea. Jackoffs cayn't handle it." Pickles slammed open a greasy fridge to find it blessedly full of beer. He grabbed three and thumped them onto the amenity with his stage make up.

" _That's how Pickles tricks guys into bein' fags with em'"_ Even though they all wore make-up on stage and Pickles only might have accidently fooled a drunk dude into thinking he was a chick. Not on purpose. Obviously…

"Well hell we got an hour don't we?" Tony finished his 40' and heaved himself off the couch to look for another.

"Whatever I guess so…" Pickles rolled his eyes and gulped down some of the piss thin beer. At least it was cold though. Staring at the mirror Pickles ran his fingers through his red frizzy hair, nervous suddenly.

Fuck it, time for the transformation.

Heavy black eyeliner always made Pickles look fierce. It wasn't about looking like a chick or even how other people looked at him, the man just looked good in eyeliner and enjoyed looking good for himself. And besides, it hid the bags that hung perpetually from his eyes.

Pickles came to L.A to put as many miles between Tomahawk and himself as possible. Especially his father. He could still remember the son of a bitch drunkenly beating his ass while slurring 'What's that around yer eyes? Is that your mam's makeup? Yoo a fuckin' homo now, boy?' Wearing eyeliner was only part of a long list of things his father didn't approve of.

Pickles was thirteen when he had found his heroes in the world. These rock god's wore heavy eye makeup and leather jackets, tight shirts and had big hair. And, of course consumed drugs and alcohol.

Pickles was no stranger to either, even when he had his first beer at eight he felt like he was greeting an old friend. Maybe that's why his strongest relationship had always been with the bottle.

"Damn Pickles, your hair is getting' huge." Suddenly Tony's reflection loomed over Pickles, Tony had a presence about him that sometimes put Pickles off, a kind of greasy presence.

"That's da point innit'?" Pickles continued teasing his bright red hair with a beat up comb. Trying to ignore Tony behind him.

 _Jackooff…._ Pickles used his free hand to gulp down the remainder of his first beer. Once he had gotten his hair sufficiently teased he sprayed a cheap can of hair spray all around it. Rummaging through his sack he grabbed an embroidered head band that a groupie had made him, they had sewn little green and purple snakes with a colorful patterned background. It may have been a little much, but Pickles wanted tonight to be different.

"That's a new head band huh? Looks good." Tony cupped his cold clammy hand around the back of Pickles neck. Goosebumps and anger bubbled over Pickles. He tossed the head band at the mirror and shoved back from his chair, while swinging a mostly empty beer bottle toward Tony.

In any band ecosystem there is always a good amount of mutual respect and ball-busting. And Pickles could hang with the best of the ball-busters, but Tony had always been about mind-fucking his band mates. Mostly Pickles though, maybe because Tony knew that Pickles would fight back or because he was the youngest in the band.

"Git yer fuckin' hand off me Tony, I swear ta God!" Pickles held the bottle high, eyes smoldering like some witches brew. "Let me jist finish gittn' buzzed and ready for fecks sake."

Tony laughed and mimicked fear, "Soooorrrry! Didn't know tonight would make you so uptight! It's just a gig, Pickles!" He took a swig of his beer and glared at Pickles with red rimmed eyes. "You know, I wonder if you can handle this kind of pressure."

Instead of breaking his empty bottle against his smug band mate's skull, Pickles swung it against the wall, why not? They were fucking rock stars after all, they were supposed to break bottles against walls.

"Ha ha! Hell yeah! There he is!" Tony laughed suddenly clapping Pickles on the back, "I love that fuckin' energy man!" Tony gave Pickles a lingering stare.

Pickles pupils dilated, a prominent Irish scowl fixed to his brow. Body tensed. Upset that Tony had gotten a rise out of him but also happy that he hadn't broken a bottle against the bassist's face. Any good band needs a bassist.

Pickles violently grabbed a fresh beer, suddenly it seemed like the only possible course of action was to finish it as fast as possible. He flinched away from Tony's hand.

After a mere 20 seconds Pickles had finished his rage beer.

Tony made a lavish mock bow to Pickles, then he silently sauntered off toward the bathroom; probably to get high.

Pickles glared at Tony as he crossed to the bathroom letting the empty bottle slip out of his fingers.

 _Screw it, Life's aboot to git a lot better._

Smirking Pickles took one long look in the mirror. His eyes were still unfinished. Grabbing an old snub of black eyeliner he applied it in heavy strokes along his eyelid. The adrenaline and beer had made his hand a little unsteady, but then again, it seemed like his hand was only ever steady when he was smashed.

Content with his eyes, Pickles grabbed the fan-made hairband and slipped it over his head. Pickles liked it, it was remarkably well made and fit him perfect.

Now he just needed to _feel_ stage ready.

One more step.

Cocaine had been introduced to Pickles when he came to L.A. He became an addict fast and hard. He wanted that feeling of oblivion followed by adrenaline and feelings of godliness. Reaching into his dirty sack he found the little brown box where he kept his drugs. Pickles took out the little bag of coke and a dirty razor, carefully dabbing the bag with his finger to pour it onto the mirrored surface.

Lines, straw, inhale.

Pickles sniffed at his nose, feeling the runs going down his throat. The force hit him like a ton of bricks, " _wha…whooooaaaaa…_ " Pickles fell back into his chair and let his head fall back. The world was spinning but in an absolutely blissful way. He felt like he was holding onto this powerful light growing in his chest, but he couldn't let it drop, he was saving it for the stage.

"Hey guys! We got 5 minutes! Pickles! Pickles! Where tha' fuck is Tony?"

Pickles registered Candynose's voice. Pickles jumped up out of his seat, allowing a little bit of his high to leak from his chest.

"He's shittin' or sumthin' whatever mayn! Wanna line? We're gonna kill it boys!"

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On the stage Pickles shined. If anything could be said for Snakes N' Barrels it was that they put on a wicked live show. Pickles loved the lights, the way his fingers flew down his fret and elicit moans of lust from the audience. He loved bellowing into the mic and strutting across the stage in energized lunges.

An hour in they were finishing up, one last rock ballad. This particular ballad Pickles was especially proud of. He had written it while he had been living on the street; having only a backpack and his gold top Gibson to his name. Pickles wrote it on buses, during parties even, it was his baby, his masterpiece. It went everywhere with him.

 _Cast out of hell, too many dirty angels at His feet,_

 _Still don't know how to reach release, all these killer tendencies_

 _Wonder how long till I experience release_

For this ballad Pickles was still. No exciting romping across the stage, he wasn't even focused on the audience. He was focused on himself. The audience was quiet. Some rock n' roll was meant to illicit silence.

Pickles voice softened and rung like a bell. Not many singers around could reach those soprano notes like Pickles, he was sexless in this moment, something more than a man or a mere mortal.

 _Rage, rage against this neon heaven,_

 _Not gonna' let those masked angels change me_

 _Gonna' grab this gilded kingdom by it's' throat and squeeze_

 _Still don't know how to reach release, all these killer tendencies_

 _Wonder how long…_

 _Till I reach my sweet release._

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Snakes N' Barrels played a sold out show. They all had so many panties and joints thrown up on stage they were just bundling it all together at the end, sweaty panties and all.

The band was in high spirits on their way back to the green room. The recent tension between Pickles and Tony had mostly diminished and they were all getting along drinking heavily and engaging in heavy drug use.

The front man had one arm draped over some random hussie that had wandered in. The kind of groupie that was thankfully just happy keeping her mouth shut at the right times and being topless. The groupies love Pickles, for more than being the lead singer, Pickles had a reputation as a good lover.

This particular hussie had heavy breasts that were almost on the comical side, she wasn't a little thing either but Pickles had liked them curvy anyway…all the better for what he had planned later.

"Didya see how smooth we jist played? Doods, we're totally gonna get signed from dis!" Pickles exclaimed knocking back one of the set of tequila shots lined up in front of him. He'd drank a lot in the few minutes they were backstage. Pickles felt invincible.

"Hell yeah, we're fuckin' Snakes N. Barrels for fucks sake!" Candynose wailed after sniffing from his ether soaked rag. "We're gonnna hafta' beat 'em off with a stick!"

"And look at these chicks amiright?" Snazz slapped a groupie on the ass. In most other circumstances he would've been whupped, but the buxom girl in the pleather pink mini only giggled and sipped her beer, actually eyeing the rhythm guitarist.

Tony did not have a woman draped over him, he was too busy knocking back shots and snorting coke. The bass guitarist eyed Pickles suddenly. Pickles broke his gaze and just by happenstance stared into the adjacent mirror.

Pickles saw more than one Pickles, literally, but what surprised him was his eyes. They were unfocused, red, his eye makeup had smeared and left two deep hollows in his face. His nose was bright red and thin lines of snot were sticking to his beard. He was used to seeing himself strung out, but something felt strange about looking at himself. Like he was staring at a stranger.

It was then that Pickles realized he was the only one drinking the tequila. It was strange because tequila was Tony's favorite and he had abstained from tequila all night. Was it just the tequila getting to his head?

 _Feck what else did I do today…?_ This was no mere coke and liquor high, or even a coke, liquor, and crack scenario. Something was off.

 _Let's see so wasit four or five when I woke up? Where did I wake up? Aw hell…_ Pickles decided that trying to think back to what he did earlier that day was futile.

"You doin' alright there?"

Suddenly Pickles realized he was alone. The soft fleshy woman at his side had disappeared and his other band mates were heard outside in between the allies probably fucking or pissing. Tony and Pickles were alone again.

"Huh? Oh yeh, I'm fayntastic…" Pickles clipped his words at the bassist. Like a reflex Pickles reached for the bottle of tequila, _Must just be good shit…_

"You sure? You look fucked up dude!" Tony smirked down at his lead vocalist. "Wanna go back to couch mountain? Your fat chick will probably be there later." Couch Mountain was the name of their little homestead. It received its name for having annual couch burning parties. Those parties were fucking legend.

"Uh, sure, as longas I hit that laters." Pickles tongue felt thick in his mouth, his words were slurring more than usual. "She's hot, heheh." Pickles sat back in the couch closing his eyes to try to picture the lady in question face, but try as he might he just saw her double D's staring back at him.

"Sure man, whatever. Come on grab the horse too! Fuckin' Snazz will get over it."

Snazz's stash of heroin sat on the stained coffee table, beckoning Pickles.

Pickles had only tried heroin a few times, and although he could hang with the hardest of druggies he himself had always been a bit of a lightweight-at least compared to bigger guys. Horse had bit him in the ass that first time, he could barely do anything but stare at the ceiling in his room and ride waves of pleasure at first but afterward, for what felt like eternity, he experienced terrifying hallucinations.

The rock star saw his father and brother crawling toward him, desiccated corpses with crazed toothless smiles. The carpet in his dingy room coming alive and trying to eat his feet. It culminated in Pickles screaming trying to break his mirror to use the shards to fight the grisly apparitions.

It was Tony who came to him, grabbing Pickles tightly and wrestling the ginger to the ground. Pickles cringed from his touch, not sure what was real or hallucination. Tony had almost been gentle to him, until he realized how high Pickles was.

" _Well I'll be damned! Tried to chase that dragon huh? Well you gotta learn from your highs buddy…"_

Tony had dropped Pickles back onto his high ass and grinning down at the slowly unraveling young man, turned and switched the bathroom light off.

Pickles didn't like to recall the rest of that night.

 _It was one bad high…Tony was jist bein' hard on me…_

Determined to show up Tony, Pickles pulled himself out of his drug induced glaze and grabbed the horse. He found his sense of balance almost completely gone.

"Em…whoaa!" The ginger fell hard against the edge of the couch stumbling over the arm of the chair. The room spun, this time in a disoriented troubling way. Pickles regained his footing and waited for the room to stop spinning.

"Come on, Pickles, get your shit together we gotta' get paid before we blow this place." Tony slung a bag over his shoulder, presumably full of more malt beer and coke and started for the door.

Pickles cursed under his breath and, with difficulty, grabbed his sack from the amenity and groped along the walls out of the room. Taking one last look back at the room he had longed to be in since he arrived in L.A, Pickles followed his band mate out into the hallway.

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AN: So this is my first Metalocalypse fic. It's been ages sinces I've written any fiction so please give me some critiques! I really tried to get Pickles' dialogue right. Not sure exactly where this fic is going...but I want to update soon!

Cheers,

Katrina


	2. Carpe Diem

As the pair of glam rockers left the "Green Door" Pickles began to think idly about his life before he became a member of Snakes N' Barrels.

The young Wisconsinite had lived on the streets of L.A for almost six months before he met Tony.

It all started one humid night in July (or was it August? Pickles hadn't kept the best track of time during those days). Pickles had snuck his way into a party downtown, it wasn't no Hollywood party with fancy suits and botoxed scream queens but it had unlimited alcohol and that was all Pickles wanted. He found it easy to sneak in, all he had to do was flash his guitar and a snide smirk and people figured he belonged. That was the magic of L.A in the late 80's, all you had to have was a good sense of style and an instrument and you were in.

Well, that and some blow.

Pickles had been running drugs for a local gang, and rather then get paid cash, Pickles found that blow would get him to more places. Everyone wanted to hang out with the kid setting up lines. He knew that most people were just using him for a good time but in those coke fueled nights Pickles would listen and learn who was who in the glam rock scene, tips on his guitar playing and, ultimately, where he was going to sleep that night.

On this specific night, Pickles found himself in a dirty bathroom with two nameless coke heads and Tony Dimarco. Tony looked different back then, his black hair wasn't so greasy and his skin wasn't so white. He would have looked almost attractive if it hadn't been for those disturbingly black eyes, Pickles could see his reflection in them if he looked at them in the right (or wrong) light.

"I've seen you around, kid. What's your name?" Tony inquired, watching Pickles cut up the cocaine crystals on the bathroom counter. Pickles had looked different back then too, try as he might he hadn't been able to grow a beard yet and his hair hadn't grown out to it's would be potential. The young runaway had always been short and small in stature.

"Yew can call me Pickles. Yeh, I hang aroun' _ blv a lot." Pickles divided the powder into four lines, glancing up at the older man across from him.

"Whoa, you're not from around here, huh? Pickles short for something'?" Tony snickered flashing a toothy grin.

"Na, jest my name, I'm from Wisconsin. Hayd to git away from that shit hole." Pickles blushed slightly, it wasn't the first time he had been called out as an out-of-towner. Lots of people heard his accent, saw how young he was and immediately figured they could take advantage of him, thinking he was just a little mid-western bumpkin.

"Fuck! Wisconsin is brutal…I know how you feel, kid, believe it or not I'm from the east side." Tony jokingly held up an eastside gang symbol with his fingers. "East siiiyeed!" The pale man burst out laughing and slapped his knee like he was fucking Bill Hicks.

The young red-head smirked, deciding that even for all this guy's cheesy attitude and freaky eyes he wasn't so bad. Pickles rolled up a dollar bill and snorted his line of coke, passing the bill to Tony.

"Ah, thanks bud." Tony leaned down and violently snorted a line of coke, throwing his head back to whoop loudly. He nonchalantly flicked the bill at the two silent druggies beside him and fished a pack of smokes out of his pocket. "You want to go for a smoke?"

"Yeh, sounds good." Pickles grabbed his guitar bag and followed his new friend out of the moldy bathroom, leaving the two druggies to their silent ritual.

"God, those two were somethin' huh?" Tony laughed as he slapped the cigarette pack against his palm.

"Happens to da best of us, amiright?" Pickles took the cigarette offered to him and placed it between his lips. Tony rose his eyebrows and scoffed, lighting Pickles' cigarette for him before lighting his.

"You play?" Tony asked, gesturing to the beat up guitar case flung across Pickles back.

"Uh-huh," Pickles took in a deep drag and held it for a moment, enjoying the smoke seep into his lungs, "Lookin' for a band…or to start one anyway."

"Oh yeah? Play me somethin'?"

Pickles smirked and took another hard drag, then he let the case slip from his shoulder. He loved to play at parties, back home no one appreciated his talent, but here, in smoky patios and piss stinking bars he found an audience that was always eager to hear him.

"Sure." The young aspiring rocker unzipped his case and pulled out his prized possession (if not his only possession) a gold-top Gibson, only lightly scruffed from Pickles avid playing.

Stubbing his cigarette out for later, Pickles ripped into his guitar, fingers racing along the fret, his left hand strumming the strings with a beat up pick. And to Tony's surprise the young mid-westerner began to sing the glam rock song anthem- Sweet Child of Mine.

Within seconds Pickles found he had more than just Tony as an audience. Party-goers stopped whatever conversations or drugs they were having and listened to the young man. Even though his guitar was faint, Pickles voice rang out into the night, as if it was calling out to all the lost in the city. Pickles shut his eyes and gave himself up to the music.

When Pickles had finished the first half of the song he opened his eyes to see the older man staring back at him with those black pools for eyes, his mouth agape.

"Man…Pickles your voice is killer." Tony clapped him on the shoulder. The onlookers whistled and some took up the rest of the song. Across the patio Pickles noticed more than a few girls eyeing him.

"Thanks, mayn, it's why I'm here." Pickles half lied. Just as much as he came to L.A for the music scene he also came here to get away from his dickweed of a father. "Yew don't know anyone lookin' fer a vocalist do ya?" He asked hopefully.

Tony gave an even wider smile that Pickles didn't know his face could allow. "You're in luck, kid. You're lookin' at the best bassist in L.A." The older man bluffed, but not in an entirely arrogant way. "I've been thinkin' of starting something new, something to really take this town by the balls ya know? Where you stayin'?"

All of a sudden Pickles had a place to sleep, not just a place, but a room with walls and a roof. Tony had taken him in and although he was by no means the best bassist in the city, Pickles had to admit he wasn't terrible. Soon after that night the two were holding auditions for their new band and for the first time ever Pickles felt like he belonged.

Tony and the younger man got along mostly, the only thing that ever put Pickles off was those oily black eyes of his. Maybe Pickles was just put off from them because he couldn't read them, he couldn't tell if the man's eyes were dilated or calm.

Snazz and Candynose weren't the best musicians in the world, not even close to as good as Pickles, but they both had reputation and style and in the glam rock n' roll world that was half of it. The four of them got along and made some pretty good music. One night they were trying to come up with a name for their new band.

"How about Gutter Gigolos?" Snazz suggested flipping through a Rolling Stone magazine, the drummer had been looking out their broken window of their living room at a couple of women of the night across the street.

"That's fuckin' gay dude." Candynose scoffed, swallowing a gulp of gin. "We need something catchy…"

Pickles had been drinking heavily all day, trying to come up with lyrics to a love ballad he had started at the beginning of his days in L.A, it may not of been a true love ballad, it was more of a ballad to a place and time than a person.

"I got it,' Tony slapped his knee, "Snakes N' Barrels." He exclaimed and looked over to Pickles who was perpetually sinking into the lumpy couch.

"I dunno Tony that sounds a lot like Guns N' Roses…" Snazz shot down the idea, but Pickles actually liked it, it reminded him of the first night Tony and he had met.

"Naw, I like it, those bastards don't own the rights to use 'N' in their name." Pickles slurred, suddenly set on the name.

"It's settles guys, or vocalist likes it and you know how selfish these fucks can be." Tony joked giving Pickles a knowing glance.

The other two band mates were over ruled, as they often were and Snakes N' Barrels came into being. _

Tonight was the culmination to everything Pickles had worked for, and even though he was faded as hell he wasn't going to let the night die young.

The streets were still thick with club goers as the two made their way to their little bungalow home. The rest of their bandmates were still at the "Green Door" so the pair had time to spend some of their winnings without squandering it on the ridiculous shit the other two would buy (although usually it was the same stuff Pickles would spend money on-minus the poon) they stopped at a little whole in the wall Indian place that doubled as an extensive beer and wine store.

They picked up two Vindaloos and two 12 packs of Sierra Nevada (the most expensive and alcoholic beer they could find) Pickles wasn't a huge fan of the beer other than how drunk he could get off of only six.

Once the pair got back to their house, Pickles dropped the food and beer off in the small kitchen that lacked even a proper stove and jumped over to the phone to call some friends over for a congratulatory party.

"Who you callin'?" Tony planted a hand next to the phone on the wall, getting a little too close to his front man.

"Uh, Sally and Puddin' Titts, we gotta' celebrate, Tony!" Pickles gave a dumb look and continued to punch in the digits.

"How about we do a little pre-gamin' before you release the hounds on this place?" Tony tipped his head toward Pickles' sack where Snazz's borrowed heroin lay.

The young vocalist considered for a moment then gave his trademark side smirk. He was starting to get more clear-headed than he wanted, and hungry too. The smack would take care of that.

Allowing the phone to drop from the cradle Pickles made a leap across the room with Tony to his bedroom down the hall (really all their bedrooms) he was so excited about their newfound success that everything he did was with a bounce.

"When yer right yer right, Tony!" Pickles belly flopped onto the bare queen sized bed. Most of the time Pickles shared it with at least one other of his band mates, lately he had been sharing it with Snazz who appreciated Pickles' snuggle fetish.

Tony kicked off his patent leather boots and tall top hat and threw open the bedside table looking for a tourniquet. Pickles busied himself with mixing the high end China White heroin that came all the way from NYC with some water in a cap. He was a little hesitant to make it too strong so he erred on the safe side and diluted the drug.

"Jesus don't drown the little pony!" Tony exclaimed carefully sitting down on the bed.

"I'm not, Gawd ma'." Pickles giggled getting excited for the high. Carefully, he took a little cotton swab from his bag and stuck it in the solution, then took his brand new needle and sucked up the potion into the syringe.

The whole time Tony watched pickles intently. For whatever reason everything Pickles did when he was truly excited about something had a flare to it. Maybe it was because it was right after a very solid show, or because Pickles abided by the one mantra that many people tried to live by but ultimately failed- **Carpe Diem.**

Even when Tony first met the starved oddly endearing youth a half a year ago he had this energy. The bassist had no idea that Pickles was so determined to start a band either. Pickles drove his other band mates when he had to but for the most part was just happy to be making music. For Tony, at least 6 years Pickles' senior, he had grown disillusioned even before he hit the City of Angels.

More than just disillusioned.

Tony DiMarco lived anything but a charmed life back in Maryland. Like Pickles, he came from a hard family that didn't accept him. Tony understood the hell that someone could exist in. As a teenager he had no outlet for his anger, unless you counted his experiments with wild chickens and cats an outlet.

Tony was also no stranger to people wanting you to _be just normal_. Who the fuck wants normal? Even now Tony understood his violent urges as a child were warning signs, but now he had drugs, his music…

And Pickles. Tony was very happy to have someone who understood at least part of the loathing he experienced. More importantly though, Tony was happy he had a new outlet.

As Tony watched Pickles eagerly extend the needle to him, a sloppy side smirk silently asking…begging to be released…the dark man lost himself.

"You are so greedy." Tony remarked, pausing for what felt like eternity until he took the needle and threw the makeshift tourniquet at his fellow musician.

Tapping the syringe, Tony examined the brownish liquid. _You'll be inside Him soon…_

The eager lead singer rolled his eyes, "Tony, come on mayn, not gittin' any higher o'ver here."

Tony smiled and looked over at the tightness of Pickles arm, how the veins stuck out, egging him on.

"Lay back against the headboard." Tony commanded, moving so Pickles could move.

Pickles sighed anxiously and obeyed. Tony loved it when he obeyed.

"Okee." Pickles plopped in front of the headboard. Extending his over ripe arm.

The older musician straddled the red head's narrow waist and tapped the syringe to get rid of the air bubbles, grabbed the youth's arm and carefully guided the needle into a perfectly visible blue vein.

It felt like going down a steep hill, but he wasn't scared, he was floating. Everything melted around him into a million atoms and for a moment, Pickles thought he could hear all the scents in the room.

Then gradually, as the peak dwindled, Pickles was able to focus on Tony in front of him, staring at him.

Pickles also felt hands on him, at first he was sure it was just in his head. Slowly, as he focused on Tony he realized the man's hands were missing…and his neck felt icy.

"Dood…git yer hands off meh…" Pickles swatted at Tony's clammy hands around his neck, but the larger man above him only ran a hand down the back of his neck. It wasn't painful, only cold and slightly unsettling…somehow domineering as well. It made Pickles feel like an object.

To Pickles great relief Tony withdrew his fingers, a frown evident on his lips. He drew away and scoffed, busying himself with his own dosage.

"My turn." Tony mumbled, holding up a new needle and heavy dose to his lead.

Regaining his composure, Pickles administered Tony's high. His bassist had much larger veins than him, his arms were more bruised too. Track marks laced down the inside of his forearm, making a web of violet connections. It was hard to look at. Most of Tony was hard to look at though, not necessarily because he was ugly, the man just looked dangerous. His hair was straight and black, his jaw bones were strong and square, brow sharp and inquisitive. When Tony was mad his brow would straighten and illicit fear from onlookers. When the man smiled his face would soften almost, but never did it lose that hardness.

Pickles slowly injected the needle into the pale track-marked arm of his band mate. Secretly, Pickles loved helping Tony get high, it made him feel powerful.

Tony groaned as the drug made its' way throughout his body, reaching into every crevasse and extremity. It was amazing how a substance could make one feel like a totally different person, a better person even.

"Ah….that's it…" Tony moaned, loosening the tourniquet with his teeth.

Pickles discarded the syringe, knowing damn well better than re-using needles (he may be a rowdy rocker drug addict but he was a smart rowdy rocker drug addict.) The small dirty room appeared to shimmer, the red head was able to see beauty and purpose to every insignificant thing. The dresser had music sheets strewn across it, various bottles of beer littered the ground; the fruits of all their success had been born of late drunken nights collaborating with his band mates. Blissful nights of creativity and acceptance, the four of them catching on to each other's ideas and bringing notes to life.

"Yew know what, Tony?" Pickles sighed, leaning against the headboard, "This room is feckin' bee-utiful right now."

"Mmm-mm…" Tony mumbled.

"I'm gonna' miss this." The front man brought himself to lay on his stomach, his head inches from Tony's. "All of us…livin' here."

"Why? Where you goin'?" Tony grumbled. The bassist was never very talkative when he did smack.

"Well, tonight changed alat'" Pickles reached up to his forehead and ripped his head band off, his red hair falling into his face. "We're prabably gonna' be gittn' new digs soon, right?" Pickles smirked. He had seen the record suits at the show tonight, had even talked to a few and gotten business cards.

Tony suddenly reached a hand over to Pickles' head and ran his fingers through the red-head's hair. After a few strokes Tony started grabbing Pickles' hair at the base of his scalp, tugging the fiery tangles deeply.

Pickles closed his eyes, he wouldn't say it, but this felt nice- comforting. Having his hair played with was a turn on for the young man. He never thought Tony could be so gentle either.

"Mayn…that feels cool…" The younger man leaned into Tony's fingers, hoping for more. Maybe he could talk the man into braiding his hair, all the groupies loved doing it and Pickles loved the attention.

Suddenly, Tony grabbed the front man's hair hard and pulled him up to his face. Pickles grimaced but didn't pull away. Bright half-lidded eyes gazed pleadingly at dark black pools of obsidian.

The raven haired man was silent, staring intently at the flushed young man in front of him. Pickles small black tank barely covered his freckled flesh. It was endearing how he dressed, Tony knew the younger man relished being stared at, and was at heart, an attention whore. Black irises trailed down the length of Pickles' body, stopping at his skin-tight sky blue jeans.

"Ah…it's jist the speed…!" Pickles suddenly looked down and saw his jeans pulled painfully taunt across his groin. He hadn't realized how his body was reacting, assuming all the feelings of pleasure was just in his head. Yet low and behold, the front man was actually getting turned on by having his hair tugged…by a man.

Tony's fingers in his hair, his eyes eating Pickles up; it was unsettling but also thrilling.

"Sure…" Tony droned, releasing Pickles' hair abruptly much to the red head's dismay.

"I can't help it," Pickles moaned, clashing his mouth against Tony's. A pang of guilt ran through his body, realizing that he didn't actually enjoy the kiss as much as he wanted to just egg the bassist on. The electricity running through his body was too much to bear, there was no way he could hold back. All reason left him as he tried in vain to push his tongue through the dark haired man's tight lips.

Tony recoiled. This kid couldn't just take what wasn't given. Kissing was weak, but the dark haired man knew what he wanted. He wanted Pickles to scream.

"I-I'm sorry…I'm jist horny from tha stage…" Pickles stammered, growing slowly more and more distressed as he stared at Tony's stoic face.

"Shut up." Tony said sternly and got on his knees, shoving Pickles against the headboard again. The bassist was sick of how happy Pickles looked. The front man had all the confidence in the world-Tony's job was to take it all away. To make the young man less, to make him his equal.

His equal…is that what Tony really wanted? To make the boy feel the violent ache that he felt constantly as he watched Pickles strut across stage, giving his smirks and body to the audience. They were mindless zombies. There was no way they could see into Pickles soul, they were too soft.

Tony was the only one who could peel back the layers of Pickles identity; Pickles the singer, Pickles the boy from Wisconsin, Pickles the addict, Pickles the lost.

Pickles the lost was Tony's favorite. He meant to strip away all those other meddlesome identities to reach the singer's core.

Gripping the ginger's pale thin wrists to the headboard, Tony lolled his head to the side, staring at Pickles jugular pulsing.

"Uh…hey, Tony? Can ya' let me go?" Pickles nervously asked, the man above him only stared coldly at his neck. "I'm sarry…"

"What did I say?" Tony growled, freeing one of his hands to grab the young man's nape.

The red head gulped, feeling powerless, the bulge in his pants only grew more painful. He was used to being the dominant one in their band, always the one to make the big decisions, always the one to tell the others what to do-even Tony. But Tony held him firmly, slowly leaning down to bite hard on Pickles shoulder.

"Ow!" Pickles exclaimed, he wasn't used to biting, in reality Pickles was a very gentle lover. He chose soft caresses and rhythmed fucking to hard, violent fucking. Afraid to speak any more though, Pickles allowed Tony to lick up his neck, leaving sharp bites. They were far from being love bites.

Tony violently tugged Pickles' head back and ran his cold lips along the singer's Adams apple. The red head shivered and closed his eyes tight, hoping the cold lips would lift away from his skin.

But the bassist continued licking, going down now, pulling Pickles' shirt off roughly to expose the singer's pale freckled chest, nipples erect and punctured with two shining silver piercings. Tony looped a finger around one of the rings and tugged gently, staring up into Pickles' clenched jaw and tightly closed eyes.

"Mmmm…uh…" Pickles groaned, half in pleasure half in fear.

The dark eyed man continued his onslaught on the younger man, running sharp nails down the warm flesh. Tony stopped at the boy's hips, staring intently at Pickles' groin.

He wouldn't allow Pickles to have any kind of release. He would deny all power to him. Snaking a cold hand down Pickles pants he was happy to find that his front man was free-balling.

The vocalist's hips jerked at the sudden coldness of slick fingers running along his shaft. All Pickles could do was muffle his gasps and try to be still, even though his body was convulsing.

"You're rather eager, didn't know you were gay, Pickles." Tony said silkily, to Pickles dismay the bassist withdrew his hand and quickly undid his leather pants. The red head could see the large bulge growing in Tony's pants, suddenly feeling panic wash over him.

"Ah…Tony I think we should stap…" Pickles pleaded quietly, he was more than a little afraid of what was in Tony's pants.

The back of Tony's fret hand whipped across Pickle's face, stunning the younger man. A trickle of blood escaped down his chin, for a moment the room spun, then he could only see red.

" _Git. The feck. Off of me."_ Pickles screamed shoving the larger man above him off the bed.

Tony wasn't backing down, he shoved back and slammed Pickles' hard against the headboard, painfully pinning his wrists behind him. The younger man struggled but he wasn't even close to as strong as the bassist, rage or no.

"Feck off!" Pickles grunted, trying to kick Tony in the groin. To Tony's relief he hadn't managed to take his pants off yet and quickly zipped it back up while momentarily releasing the angry red head.

Tony didn't expect Pickles would fight back. He quickly regained his composure and sauntered over to the bedroom door. "You fight now," Tony glanced over his shoulder, "But soon you'll be begging me to do it."

Not sure how to respond, Pickles just stared, confused and unfortunately still hard. Even after Tony had slammed the door behind him he remained, sitting and staring.

This hadn't been the first sexual encounter between the two musicians. The first time they were sharing a woman, it had been Pickles' first threesome even though he would never admit it. The two of them hadn't ever been sexual without a third party till Pickles first time doing smack.

The thought had occurred to Pickles suddenly that the man enjoyed seeing him vulnerable. Heroin incapacitated Pickles mostly, was that what Tony was attracted to in him? Weakness?

Then was Tony really just getting off hurting him?

A shiver went down Pickles spine, the realization seemed obvious. But the younger man had denied to himself that Tony was a sadist for a while now. Sure, sometimes being a sexual sadist was hot; Tony was not being hot though, he was being downright cruel. The ominous feeling Pickles got from the bassist wasn't just in his head, there was real danger in Tony.

Now the only question was how would Pickles deal with this? He could leave the band right when it was paying off, or, he could bear it and pretend like nothing had happen. He could walk out of the room, drown his thoughts in drink and call his friends over like he had planned, that would work.

 _Nat now…nat when we're so close…_

Licking at his bruised lip, Pickles strengthened his resolve to forget this event, but not forgive.


End file.
